


Midsummer’s Night and other misunderstandings

by liliumweiss



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:08:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22742269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liliumweiss/pseuds/liliumweiss
Summary: Emma Swan doesn't do crushes. Of course that would change when there's a new English teacher in town whose perfume is just too good to be true. Too bad, he's Mary Margaret's super secret boyfriend.
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones & Emma Swan, Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan
Comments: 26
Kudos: 92





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [carpedzem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/carpedzem/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY NAT!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I know this is only half the fic I promised you, but I hope this first glimpse into this crackfic will be enough for you to forgive me :3  
> You are one of the most amazing human beings I've ever had the fortune to know and I love you so much ♥ Keep being as amazing as you are ♥

What hit her first was the scent.

It wasn’t unusual for Mary Margaret to cook for both of them, especially given how strange Emma’s hours at the station could be, but this was definitely something else.

Sniffing the air, Emma squinted, suspicious. This wasn’t food, this was _perfume_.

 _Male_ perfume.

As far as she knew, Mary Margaret, despite her friendly nature, didn’t have close male friends, and she _definitely_ wouldn’t invite them over without talking about it with Emma first.

Given her kind of job, Emma couldn’t allow herself to forget things or to let them go unnoticed. However, confronting Mary Margaret would send the brunette running for the hills. Besides, Emma would hate herself if she had to intimidate the truth out of the person she considered her best friend.

It might have taken her a bit to work out the whole friendship thing, but she still was kind of rough; she had to level up.

 _Ugh_.

She was spending way too much time with Roland at the station. The kid was amazing and those dimples could melt even the Ice Queen’s heart, and Emma loved to have him around - and use him as an excuse to treat herself to more ice cream - but she also had to endure his constant talk about superheroes and videogames. At least he didn’t think that, only because she was a girl, she wouldn’t understand.

With the kitchen right in front of the door and Mary Margaret’s wannabe bedroom on her left, Emma knew there was only one place where her roommate might be, and sure as hell she wouldn’t knock on the bathroom’s door.

 _God, please tell me they aren’t doing it in the bathroom_.

Cringing at the thought, Emma made her way upstairs to her own bedroom of sorts - really, the lack of privacy was the only thing that made her grit her teeth, but she got used to it. And while Mary Margaret _was_ a bit noisy, the brunette had learned to restrain herself as much as she could.

That was another reason why she and Mary Margaret worked well together: whist balanced, each one learned a bit from the other.

Development, that was, or growth.

She was just about to drop on her own bed and sleep the double dose of ice cream she’d been _forced_ to eat earlier away when the bathroom’s door creaked open and Mary Margaret walked out. From her bed, Emma could see her, humming to herself - something that was usual and she’d become accustomed to - and dressed in jeans and a sweater, her attire for when she was home.

 _Hmm_ , Emma thought, squinting. She was not dishevelled, nor was she flushed. And nobody would run after her out of the bathroom. She was alone, which meant her… _companion_ had already left.

Who, though? Who had stolen the lovely teacher’s heart?

Different names popped in Emma’s mind, each one discarded because nobody seemed to be enough to make her friend fall in love. Perhaps a new teacher? Hadn’t she mentioned some new English teacher? Perhaps they’d hit off, though Emma was sure there was a non-fraternization clause somewhere in Mary Margaret’s contract.

Despite the river of questions that was about to make Emma burst, she knew better than facing Mary Margaret directly, especially if her suspicion about her being in love with a coworker was correct.

Surprisingly, or maybe not, the curiosity she felt was surpassed by a twinge of pain at the obvious secret her friend was keeping from her.

 _Such a good friend you are, Swan_ , she scolded herself, knowing that Mary Margaret was as private as she was, even though for a completely different reason, and that if she’d been able to keep this a secret, it really meant something to her.

Therefore, when she decided to made her way downstairs and chat with her roommate as if the irresistible scent of lime and pine and something else she couldn’t figure out hadn’t made her fall into detective mode, Emma resolved that she would leave Mary Margaret alone, but nothing would stop her to figure out who this secret man was.

After all, she had no loyalty to him.

-/-

It was cold. Freezing cold, to be exact, and Emma’s ass was freezing, much like her toes because “no, Emma, you can totally wear those boots with thin socks without losing your toes to the cold”.

_Ha! As if!_

Of course it’d been her own choice, but that didn’t matter. What did, instead, was the industrial amount of hot chocolate she would purchase from _Granny’s_ that would fill the three - yes, _three_ \- thermos she’d purchased and keep her company during a morning in the cold police station whilst Leroy worked his magic on the heating system that had decided to go on vacation when they needed it the most. It would also be a morning full of playing solitaire unless another blackout decided to ruin everyone’s grumpy mood.

«And the bear claw,» Emma grumbled, squinting at Ruby, who apparently was taking her time to complete the order. In a way, Emma was grateful, it would mean stealing the diner’s heat longer and eat her breakfast perched on a stool and not on her way to the station.

«I heard you the first time, and the second, and the third as well. I’ll have you know, my hearing is quite good. Much like my smell. In fact, I can tell you that there’s this one guy that smells _amazing_.» Ruby made a show of inhaling deeply and fan herself with a hand.

Emma arched her eyebrow. «Is that so?»

The dark haired waitress nodded gleefully, her vibrant green eyes shining. «He’s wonderful, sex on a stick and _he knows it_ , but he’s also so cute.»

The eyebrow reached a higher level. «Those two things don’t go together, Rubes, and when they do, one is a farce.»

Ruby waved her off, setting the thermos in front of Emma. «You talk like this because you didn’t meet him. Besides, I _know_ I’m sex on a stick as well, but I am cute.»

The way she said those words had Emma laugh. There was no denying it, however, because Ruby _was_ hot, but she was loyal and a wonderful person as well. And cute, of course.

Emma had her own flaws, and conciliating opposite aspects in a person was something she struggled with, too used to believe said person was two-faced, just like Neal.

She scrunched her nose at the thought, opting for a large gulp of hot chocolate to wash away the horrible memories that came with the mention of his name.

As she watched her friend serve the morning crowd, Emma found herself tempted to ask Ruby if she’d seen Mary Margaret hanging out with someone, but thought better of it: if it was supposed to be a secret, _Granny’s_ was not the place to go out on a date.

_But if he’s her coworker, nobody would question a coffee between friends, wouldn’t they?_

Downing the rest of her breakfast, Emma slid off the stool and hugged the three bottles to her body, their heat seeping in through her clothes. «Gotta go, or Leroy will bitch about the work he needs to do more than he already will.»

Ruby snorted. «Good luck with that.»

Once outside, Emma tightened her grip around the thermoses and made her way to the sidewalk, chin resting against her chest in some attempt of keeping herself warm.

Her feet masterly avoided puddles and slippery icy stretches, however failing to alert her of the wall she ran into. Only, it wasn’t a wall, it was a person, whose warmth and voice made her world tilt on its axis as she lost balance and almost fell on her ass hadn’t it been for the warm hand wrapping its fingers around her arm.

«Easy, love.»

Once steady, Emma looked up, the words “not your love” dying on her tongue at the sight of bright blue concerned eyes.

They belonged to a man she’d never met before, his accent a dead giveaway as well. Aside from Robin and well-known troublemaker and law-breaker Will, Storybrooke was lacking in the British men department.

For the first time in her life, Emma Swan was mesmerized.

Sure, she’d seen her fair share of gorgeous men, but she’d never been captivated by someone before.

Her mouth suddenly dry, she pressed her lips together as she looked everywhere but him, forcing herself to avoid looking at his dark gingerish stubble or those eyes framed by incredibly long and thick lashes or the way dark strands of hair fell on his furrowed brow.

«I’m sorry,» she squeaked, cringing internally at the high-pitched sound. There was no end to her embarrassment, was it?

It took him releasing her from his hold for Emma to realize he’d been keeping her upright so she wouldn’t fall on her ass. _Thank god_.

The chuckle that left his lips had her insides melt, which was something Emma Swan had never ever experienced - or rather, she had, but it only happened whenever Westley said “as you wish” on _The Princess Bride_ so that didn’t exactly count.

«It is I who should apologize, lass.»

Her hair moved away from her face as the winter chilly breeze blew past them, ruffling the man’s hair in a way that had her fingers twitching. She barely could recognize herself, the feelings assaulting her an ice cold shower.

The water turned impossibly colder when the wind brought the distinct scent of lemon and pine.

 _Oh fuck_.

Seeing that he wasn’t getting a response, the man eyed her warily, camouflaging his expression with a gentle smile and sticking his hand out. «Killian Jones.»

«Emma Swan,» she answered, almost _too_ eager. Good grief, she knew she was awful at conversing with other people, but this was a whole new level for her, the ultimate boss or whatever. «And, uh, consider your hand shaken.»

Killian’s eyes fell momentarily on the bottles clutched to her chest and chuckled. «As you wish.»

Emma sucked in a breath, another whiff of his perfume filling her lungs. This man must’ve read her mind, he must’ve known she was Mary Margaret’s roommate and which movie was her favourite, there was no other plausible explanation.

«Uh, I-I need to go, now. Thank you for saving my life. Literally. I couldn’t bear losing all this hot chocolate. Okay, uhm, bye!»

_Wonderful, Emma, you either shut down completely or ramble. Perfect. Human race 1, Emma Swan 0._

She didn’t wait for him to say something, barely hearing his soft and perplexed “bye” as she rapidly strode towards the police station, running as fast as she could away from the most gorgeous man alive, man she’d treated very, very bad and whom she had developed the hugest and fastest crush in the history of crushes on, despite the fact that Emma Swan did _not_ do romance.

Too bad she was also one hundred percent sure that man was also Mary Margaret’s new coworker, and her super secret boyfriend as well.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s done! It’s finally done! I’m so so so happy that I’ve finally finished it! I’m sorry I kept you waiting my dear @carpedzem !! I hope this will make up for the long wait! You’re always cheering me on and I couldn’t let this fic end without giving it a proper conclusion and a frustrated Emma :’D Nat, thank you for always being there for me, you rock ♥ (also, I couldn’t work a “kitten”, into it, I’m sorry lol)

Chapter 2

«I think Mary Margaret has a secret boyfriend.»

It had been almost two weeks, and Emma hadn’t been able to get an answer out of Mary Margaret. Not a straightforward one, at least. No, she’d been perfectly perfect as usual, never hinting at any change of sorts, not in her personal or professional life.

However, she _had_ mentioned Killian Jones several times, even baking him chocolate and rum cupcakes, which would’ve been proof enough of her infatuation weren’t it Mary Margaret’s modus operandi: she baked for everyone, and Emma hips were kind of complaining - not that she would ever dare facing the brunette’s wrath or disappointment.

Emma needed to call in the cavalry.

Enter Ruby Lucas, gossip girl extraordinaire.

They were at the animal shelter where Ruby volunteered, especially interacting with the wildlife. Emma’d been lucky to find her there when she’d brought in the sedated wolf they’d found in the middle of the road.

At Ruby’s pouting lips when she’d not seen her favourite Irish sheriff striding in, Emma had immediately known what would cheer her up: good ol’ gossip.

Ruby arched a brow. «Are we talking about the same Mary Margaret Blanchard who cannot keep a secret to save her life?»

«That we are.»

As she wrapped the bandage around the wolf’s front leg, Ruby hummed. «Interesting. She’s been coming to the diner for breakfast every day at 7:15am, which is not strange per se, since she’s been coming in often in the morning anyway, it’s the punctuality that throws me off. But it’s Mary Margaret we’re talking about here.»

At Ruby’s shrug, Emma sighed. That was another complication to her investigation.

Then, Ruby’s eyes lit up. «Oh, that’s so obvious! How could have I not figure it out?» She turned to Emma, a wolfish grin on her lips. «She’s _totally_ banging the new English teacher!»

A fit of coughing sounded behind them, and when they turned they saw David Nolan, the owner of the shelter, sputtering after he almost choked on his coffee, the dark hot liquid staining his pristine shirt.

_Ouch_.

«Everything okay there, Dave?» Ruby asked, her voice actually concerned, coffee burns weren’t something to joke about.

«Yes!» he exclaimed in a high-pitched tone, making a haste exit, probably heading to the bathroom.

Emma tilted her head, the shadow of doubt clouding her mind for a solid minute as she kept her eyes on the door David had closed behind himself.

«Don’t mind him.» The brunette drew Emma’s attention to herself, Ruby’s eyes darting to the same door before she resumed her work. «He’s always been prim and proper, David, but after the divorce, eh, things got worse. I honestly believe he does have a stick up his ass.»

Emma hummed. She remembered the divorce very well, mostly because David had been in a coma for almost a year before his life went to hell. Or got better, it depended: while his ex-wife had not cheated on him, both had felt like strangers. Not that their marriage had been based on what Mary Margaret would call true love, mostly on their parents’ expectations. Not a solid or happy base at all.

«Do you see him often? At the diner, I mean,» Emma inquired, doubt creeping in. Mary Margaret _did_ volunteer at the hospital, maybe they had hit it off. Too bad it had been almost one year ago and her roommate wasn’t one to keep it a secret.

_But there_ was _a divorce going on_ , Emma reasoned, _and the whole town would have judged her_.

«What are you thinking in that pretty little head of yours?» Ruby inquired. Then, she sighed. «He used to come by a lot before the divorce, picking up breakfast for himself and his wife. After the papers were signed, he showed up less. He comes in early in the morning and then comes straight here.»

Emma frowned, clearly unhappy with what Ruby was telling her. _Either I’m following the wrong trail, or they_ are _an item and they are very good at hiding it_.

«I was just thinking he and Mary Margaret...» She trailed off when Ruby started to shake her head.

«No, that can’t be possible. Mary Margaret would never sleep with a married man.»

«Sleeping with a coworker would go against her principles as well.»

«No, Emma, it would go against the _rules_ , and though our dear friend doesn’t break them, she might have found the man worth breaking them.»

Sighing, Emma nodded. If anything, they agreed that Mary Margaret was a woman with her head on her shoulders and deserved to be happy. «I just hope not to run into them in the apartment. The last time I could smell his cologne all over the loft.» She bit her lip, looking down at the sleeping wolf.

Ruby gasped, eyes sparkling. «You almost caught them?»

«I think he might have left just before I came home. The house was just wrapped up in this heavenly scent of pine and lime.» Emma sighed, blushing fiercely at the raised eyebrow of her friend.

«Let me guess,» Ruby clicked her tongue, «you would’ve _loved_ to taste that smell.»

Impossibly, Emma’s cheeks turned a deeper red, and she knew, without touching them, that she could’ve fried an egg on each of them. _Good god, this is embarrassing_. «Ruby!» she chastised her friend, «we’re talking about Mary Margaret’s boyfriend here.»

The brunette sighed, fingers threading through the wolf’s soft fur; they would have to move him to one of the cages in the back if they didn’t want a frantic wolf on their hands. If only David hadn’t decided to disappear.

«What if we ask her directly? Or coax her into confessing the truth?» Ruby offered. «We both know she would tell us.»

And that was the problem: Mary Margaret _could_ tell them she was seeing someone, she trusted them to be there for her. So why hadn’t she? Did she fear they would judge her? Sure, Emma wasn’t the most graceful of friends when it came to relationships, but if Mary Margaret was happy and the guy she was seeing wasn’t a scumbag, who was she to stop her friend from loving someone? And Ruby might be nosy, but she meant well. Plus, the two of them could keep a secret.

But if Mary Margaret had made it this far without telling them, there must’ve been a reason.

«I suggest we wait,» Emma finally said, meeting Ruby’s eyes. «Perhaps they don’t want anyone to know because they fear it will make them both lose their job. As much as it hurts us that she’s not confide in her, we should trust her to make the right decision.»

_As if it was that simple to be clear-headed when it comes to love_. Emma was quick to shut the voice in her head, memories she didn’t want to revisit threatening to break the walls she’d built around them.

After a loud sigh, Ruby agreed, shoulders slumped. «You’re right. We love her, but we can’t affect her love life, not when she looks so happy.»

Emma had to agree: even if Mary Margaret had always been chirpy and hyper positive, lately it was as if she’d levelled up, her joy influencing everyone around her, Emma included.

«Oh, by the way,» Ruby continued, «she’s totally banging Killian: lime and pine? That’s his perfume.»

_Fucking. Perfect_.

-/-

Apparently, waiting for Mary Margaret to tell them the truth turned out to be the worst decision ever: it seemed, in fact, to be impossible for Emma Swan to avoid one Killian Jones.

If they didn’t run into each other at _Granny’s_ , Emma quite literally ran into him in the streets. Talk about awkward encounters.

In the weeks that followed her decision to leave Mary Margaret be, Emma had unconsciously started to notice things about Killian - how could she not, when he was always turning up like a bad penny?

Killian Jones liked his coffee black with the tiniest spoonful of sugar, and it compensated his sweet tooth when it came to pastries. To Emma’s dismay, he favoured bear claws above all, but more than once he’d done the chivalrous thing and let her have the last one. It definitely made trying not to swoon harder.

His time was mostly spent with his nose buried in a book or his head bent over papers to grade. Emma was… _fascinated_ by him. By his work, not _him_. By the way he did his job, not by English classes.

_Good_ God _!_

How did Emma know that? Because the man spent most of that time in a booth at _Granny’s_ and she might have taken it upon herself to go grab lunch or a coffee - because, let’s be real, nothing strange ever happened in Storybrooke, and Emma had so much time on her hands that she’d started lending an ear to Portland PD to help them with some cases if needed.

The first she remembered asking him was if he didn’t have an office. Suffice to say, she’d cringed at her own idiocy, also fearing Killian would misinterpret her words and get offended. Thankfully, the man only grinned.

Or not so thankfully, because Emma’s insides had melted away right then. How could just a smile have that effect on her?

He’d shared his secret love for chaos, stunning Emma. Apparently, he didn’t mind the noise or the constant coming and going of patrons. In fact, it relaxed him just as a quiet library would.

But their encounters weren’t limited to the diner: they turned up at the same place in so many occasions Emma had briefly considered looking him up to see whether he truly was Killian Jones and not a stalker with a fake identity.

Library - because, yes, Emma liked to read as well? Check.

Dark Star Pharmacy? Check.

Any Given Sundae? Check.

Mr. Gold’s pawnshop? Check as well.

Not to mention, the mall in Portland. Because of course the tiny library they had in Storybrooke and the almost as tiny bookstore didn’t have the books he wanted and he regretfully couldn’t wait for them to be shipped.

Worst place ever? The loft.

Never, not even when she was a tad too noisy, had Emma ever thought about cursing Mary Margaret to hell and beck.

Apparently, there was a first time for everything.

Having her roommate cook for Killian was one thing, it showed Emma that Mary Margaret cared about him and, hadn’t she believed they were dating, Emma would’ve had thought the brunette had basically adopted him, much like she had Emma. But inviting him for dinner at the loft at least once a week? That was unheard of.

The first time it happened, it had been a mistake from their part: they had evidently thought they would be alone and Killian had showed up at the loft, only to be welcomed by a stunned Emma.

When she’d asked why he was there, Killian had stammered a bit - and Emma was still fighting her immediate response to it, because she just couldn’t find that _cute_. Mary Margaret had then swept in, saying she’d invited Killian to dinner but had forgotten to tell Emma.

Even if her lie detector didn’t go off, Emma knew that was a lie. What else could it be?

So she’d made up an excuse, saying that she’d picked up an extra shift at the station at the last minute and had rushed out of the door. The two lovebirds deserved a quiet night in, after all.

Graham had been looking at her suspiciously ever since, because if Emma hated one thing about her work with a passion, it was the night shift.

The dinners became a ritual of sorts, and Emma couldn’t find and excuse every time, so she had to put her grown woman pants on and be the third wheel.

What she loathed the most, was that they didn’t make her feel so, always engaging her in their conversation. If she didn’t know any better, it would’ve felt as if Killian was getting to know her better.

Which, in a way, he was, and so was she, but it almost felt… too intimate. Or perhaps it was something she couldn’t exactly tell because of her lack of friends. After all, it was all circumstial information, nothing too deep, stuff everyone she cared about knew.

_So why the hell does it feel like he can read me so well?_

But these dinners hadn’t allowed only Killian to know her, but for her to get to know him better as well: she now knew about his favourite hobby - sailing - and that he had a brother in the Royal Navy, that he went to _Oxford_ but had been in need of a change of air and lo-and-behold, Storybrooke here I come.

_Come on, now, Emma, you are basically trying to convince yourself that you despise him because he’s too much like you_.

That voice in her head, good grief, why couldn’t it just _shut up_?

In all honesty, although she was trying very hard to convince herself that she did, Emma found difficult to hate Killian. How could she loathe someone as kind as him, who always brought dessert, _handmade_ desserts, not ones bought in a bakery. The man could _bake_. And not normal things, no: he wanted them to try British recipes, so he’d bring English desserts.

The first one had been a Bakewell tart, and Emma could remember very much clearly how aloud she moaned at the first bite: embarrassing couldn’t cover it. Then the Battenberg cake came along, and that one was just so perfectly made Emma had questioned him about the procedure multiple times because it was impossible that he could be _that_ good. And then he baked what became the object of her wet dreams: sticky toffee pudding.

Despite how much the scale she hadn’t stepped on in a very long time could protest, Emma couldn’t just hate him. Not after that pudding. Probably not ever.

_It seems logical that you can’t hate your roommate’s_ boyfriend _if said_ boyfriend _is not an asshole_.

… _Fuck_.

-/-

Emma grumbled under her breath, a take-away cup of hot chocolate in one hand and a beanie low on her forehead as she made her way to _Peter Peter’s_ , one of the two pumpkin farms in town.

With Halloween approaching, she’d not bothered much about the noise complaints, but she couldn’t deny how strange it was to receive so many of those.

The place wasn’t packed, but there were some customer around, studying pumpkins of all shapes and colors.

Emma didn’t particularly loved Halloween or any other holiday, she just wasn’t used to them; growing up in the foster system did that to a person. Besides, she couldn’t carve one without risking a trip to the ER.

Besides, if she had to go all Jack the Ripper on someone, it wouldn’t be herself, but her lovely roommate: dear Mary Margaret had been up since the crack of dawn - on a _Saturday!_ \- to bake cinnamon rolls and pumpkin pies to bring to the nuns for some charity event.

_Charity event my ass_ , Emma thought at the memory of Mary Margaret’s perfectly styled hair - the ends were _curled_ \- and how she’d dressed up to bake. Not to mention the shiny brand new pointed-toe Mary Janes with a bit more heel height than what Mary Margaret was used sitting next to her bed.

Her roommate was going on a date and wasn’t even trying to hide it.

So picture Emma surprised when she found a dark haired British man looking attentively at the rows of pumpkins. She nearly dropped her cup.

«What are you doing here?»

_Way to go, Emma_.

If Killian was irritated by her accusatory tone, he didn’t show; in fact, he turned around and gave her a wide, warm smile that had butterflies flutter in her stomach.

«Fancy meeting you here, Swan.»

Oh, that accent of his did _things_ to her alright.

Banishing the thought, Emma squinted at him. «I asked you first.»

If possible, his grin widened. «And I didn’t ask a thing.»

_Goddamned English professors_ , she thought to herself, stopping before sticking her tongue out at him like one of his students. «Right you are,» Emma conceded, taking a sip of her hot cocoa to focus on something, _anything_ that wasn’t Killian. The pumpkins were a really bright orange.

«To answer your question,» Killian began, drawing her attention back to himself, «I’m searching for the right pumpkin to carve and put in my class. I have a lesson about the phenomenon of _jack-o’-lantern_ planned.»

Emma hummed, a small smile ticking her lips upwards. She hid it behind her scarf, toeing the terrain with the tip of her boot. «That sounds interesting. I’ve never known much about the origins of Halloween or the holiday itself.»

She was startled by her own admission: exposing herself like that had always been taboo for her, a line she’d never crossed and barely did with her friends.

«Different upbringings tend to teach us about different things, don’t they?» Killian gave her a small smile, an embarrassed one. Why would he feel like that? He averted his eyes, looking way past the field of pumpkins. «My mother was Irish, she taught me and Liam everything she knew before...» He cleared his throat, clearly not at ease with the topic at hand.

Before she could think twice about it, Emma lifted her free hand and placed it over Killian’s arm, right above his bicep, which flexed in response to her touch beneath the leather jacket and the cobalt blue shirt he was wearing. She hoped he took the blush spreading all over her face as a response for the biting breeze that had picked up, but when she looked up into his bright blue eyes, Emma didn’t see anything other than the expression she saw in the mirror every time loneliness knocked at the door.

Squeezing his arm in a comforting gesture, Emma smiled up at him, her gaze never wavering. «I’m sure she’s proud that you are passing her teachings on to your students.»

Emma couldn’t escape the magnetism of his eyes, the earnest way in which he was looking at her, his soul bared to her, much like hers was to him.

And yet, she wasn’t scared, no, she even tilted her head slightly backwards, Killian’s face drawing closer and closer, until his lips were on hers, so soft that, for a moment, Emma thought he was only a dream.

The kiss stayed soft, no hunger or pressure, only deepening when Killian turned his head just so, and the tip of his tongue dared trace her lips, asking for permission, permission Emma gave him without a second thought.

She hummed blissfully, her body relaxing instantly, his scent so intoxicating Emma found it difficult to think.

_Hmm, pine and lime…_

Her eyes shot open and she forced herself to pull away, stumbling back with a stricken expression on her face. The moment her shock faded away, it was immediately replaced by fury, aimed both towards Killian and herself.

«How _dare_ you?» That was _definitely_ aimed at both. And no, she wouldn’t go soft on him because of the pain in his eyes. «How can you do this to Mary Margaret?»

Oh, now he was acting all confused, wasn’t he? Of course he would. Well, at least Mary Margaret would soon know she’d been played and-

«Emma?»

_Oh, oh fuck no, please._

Because of course Mary Margaret would catch them in the act.

_Rip the band-aid off, wasn’t that what you wanted, Emma?_

The blonde whirled around, still holding the cup in a deathly grip. _Probably so I won’t be able to strangle first Killian and then myself._

But when her eyes locked with Mary Margaret’s, Emma didn’t find tears nor hurt. In fact, her roommate seemed quite… _happy_.

Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. How could that be? Hadn’t she just witnessed her boyfriend kissing her best friend? How could she look so… radiant?

A movement behind Mary Margaret caught her attention, and her eyes widened as she saw David approaching them holding a horse’s reins.

«What are you doing here?» Emma blurted, eyes looking back and forth between the newcomers.

«I was called to track Nicodemus down,» David explained slowly, clearly trying to keep an innocent appearance. _Too late, pal_.

Emma shot a glance to Mary Margaret, one eyebrow raising in question. «And since when do _you_ volunteer at the animal shelter?»

Mary Margaret had the grace to look down and blush. «I don’t,» she murmured so lightly Emma struggled to hear her.

Emma blinked once, twice, and then blinked some more. «Y-you two?! You and David? You are dating _David_? How? When? I-I thought you were dating Killian!»

If possible, Mary Margaret blushed even more, her mouth agape in shock. «You _what_?» she asked almost angrily. «How could you think that I would date a coworker?» Mary Margaret winced, looking past Emma to tell Killian: «No offense.»

«None taken, love,» Killian murmured, and though there _was_ an edge of amusement, when Emma whirled around to look at him, she saw caution in his eyes.

She looked back at Mary Margaret. «But his perfume was everywhere in the loft!»

«His perfume? Emma, what are you talking about?» a confused Mary Margaret inquired, glancing briefly at David, who was now standing next to her, biting his lips as if he was trying to hold back a smile.

Emma felt lost. And confused as fuck. «Lime and pine, i-it was _everywhere_! And then I ran into Killian and I swear that was his cologne. Ruby confirmed it!» Even to herself, Emma did sound crazy, there was no other way of putting it.

Mary Margaret frowned. «Lime and pine? Lime and- _oh_. _Oh!_ » she realized before breaking into a laugh that had her doubling over clutching her stomach. «I’m sorry, Emma, I am _so_ sorry.»

Emma arched a blonde eyebrow, waiting for Mary Margaret to explain. Unless, of course, she died of laughter before she could.

When finally Mary Margaret was able to catch her breath and dried her tears off, Emma had almost had enough. She felt very much stupid, a sensation she wouldn’t define nice at all; it brought unhappy memories back, and the last thing she wanted was to appear stupid. At least they hadn’t attracted a crowd.

«I’m sorry, Emma, I never thought you’d draw that conclusion. I never dated Killian, nor I ever wanted to, especially-» Mary Margaret cut herself off, shaking her head slightly. «It was a candle. Well, several candles, to be honest. They’re called Midsummer’s Night and they have this predominant scent of pine and lime. I honestly never made a connection to Killian’s cologne before you mentioned it.»

A candle.

_This… this can’t be_ , Emma thought, bewildered. It was simply impossible: she couldn’t have mistaken the scent of a goddamned _candle_ for Killian’s perfume. Right?

Emma blinked in shock. «Then why did you keep inviting Killian over for dinners? W-why not invite _David_ , instead, you know, your _secret boyfriend_?»

Huffing, Mary Margaret shook her head. «How could you not understand I didn’t invite Killian over for _me_?» She gave Emma a pointed look.

Oh.

_Oh_.

Oh, no.

With her complexion now as red as a tomato, Emma turned slowly to face Killian, eyes downcast. She licked her lips, not knowing exactly what to say. «Y-you-»

«I,» Killian cut her off in a gentle tone, stepping towards her, «have probably acted like a fool, allowing you to think the worst of me just now. I’m afraid that it’s been a while since I’ve date a woman; my manners are quite rusty.»

_How can he call his manners “rusty”? This is like listening to Shakespeare talk!_

Emma shook her head. «Your manners are _definitely_ not rusty, trust me. It’s just- I- uhm… I’m confused.» She looked up at Killian, then at Mary Margaret and David. «I thought you were dating and wanted to keep it quiet in order to avoid being fired.»

Mary Margaret reached out her hand and squeezed Emma’s elbow. «I need to apologize. You know very well that I’ve never been in love before, and the situation with David wasn’t ideal, at first. When David divorced, I’d overhead people talking about how they were sure he had a mistress and I panicked. We kept it a secret for a while, but then… we liked having no one snooping into our personal life and we just…»

«You just enjoyed the freedom that secrecy brought the two you,» Emma finished for her, a warm smile on her lips. She didn’t tell her friend that they could’ve confided in her, it wouldn’t change the past. Besides, Emma couldn’t really blame Mary Margaret. «I’m happy for you, I really am. And you,» she added, looking pointedly at David, «take care of her. I have a gun and I’m not afraid of using it.»

David chuckled, but nodded, one arm wrapping around Mary Margaret’s shoulders. «Don’t you worry, Emma, I don’t plan on ever breaking her heart.»

Emma’s heart melted at the sight of him pressing a kiss to Mary Margaret’s temple. They looked as if they’d come out of a fairytale.

A bit overwhelmed by the sight, she turned on her heels and locked her eyes with Killian’s, whose eyebrows were now arched high on his forehead. «Why didn’t you say anything? I mean, I would’ve never thought you were interested in me.»

He stepped closer until he was almost chest to chest with her. Was the air buzzing? «As I said, it’s been a long time, and you kept your distance. I feel like you’ve been let down in the past, and I didn’t want to push you, so I tried a different approach.» His cheeks tinged a deep pink, and Emma found it difficult not to smile. «I wanted you to know me before we might become something more than acquaintances.»

Irrationally, when he mentioned that she’d been let down, Emma didn’t feel like stepping away from him in fear. No, she recognized the look in his eyes not only because he’d been left alone as a kid, but he’d been hurt by someone he loved as well. The only thing Emma could feel in that moment was a strange mix of happiness and anticipation.

«I’m sorry for how I treated you after the kiss,» she murmured, but Killian was shaking his head.

«No, Swan, don’t apologize. It was just a honest mistake.» His eyes widened almost comically, though his expression was anything but. «Yours. I mean, the conclusion you drew, that was a mistake. Not the kiss. Never the kiss.»

Emma couldn’t help but chuckle. «I know what you meant,» she reassured him with a gentle pat on the chest before smiling seductively up at him. «So, you want to date me, and yet, you never asked.»

It was Killian’s turn to chuckle and shake his head in disbelief. Hmm, she already liked the idea of turning him into a stammering mess. «Very well, Miss Swan. I’d be immensely honoured if you were to accept my invitation to dinner one of these evenings.»

Squinting up at him, she fisted the lapels of his leather jacket in her free hand. «I accept your invitation,» she started, biting back a grin that, ultimately, won over her seriousness, «but only if you prepare me another of those sticky toffee puddings. Or a dozen.»

Killian laughed, a low, warm sound that sent her whole body ablaze. «I can arrange that.»

«Good.»

This time, when she raised on her tiptoes to kiss him thoroughly, Emma had no intention of letting him go.


End file.
